Open Hands
by Evergreendusk
Summary: AU: A mysterious explosion had to be solved within the time the Four Fallen separate and deal with their own problems. Conor's family had been risking bankruptcy since the beginning of time. Abeke was a runaway, living life on her own. Meilin struggled with keeping perfect grades, under the pressure of her military father, and Rollan has a secret, one that he could not bare to say.
1. Problems

Being called to the principal's office is never good news, no matter what they say.

It was the first thing Abeke ever told Meilin.

It was quite true.

"Meilin, sit down," Mr. Lassel, the principal commanded.

Mr. Lassel was a tall, bald man with round glasses and round eyes that came with a withering look. Rumor has it, if you stare deep enough into his eyes, you'll see all sixty years of his painful, miserable life.

Reality has it, he was actually in his mid-thirties, unfortunately bald, and he was actually a very reasonable man.

Meilin didn't know which to believe.

"What is it, Mr. Lassel?" she asked, secretly praying to God.

He sighed, a long, weak sigh, just to identify sixty years of pain and misery. Score one for rumor. The man pulled open a drawer in his desk, full of folders from the letters N-Z. He scrambled through his alphabetically organized records of secrets (otherwise known as folders) to find a specific one labelled: _Wang, Meilin._ "Your grades," Mr. Lassel began, making Meilin's self-confidence drop to zero, "are _not exactly_ improving."

Meilin didn't say a word, making a silent gesture for the scrawny old man to continue.

"I know it's only one month until you graduate ninth grade and you're on your way to high school, but I know you can do better than a C on your math test from two days ago, and fail your social studies test yesterday. This is your last month being a ninth grader. You can't just give up."

Meilin knew it already. She knew she might not go to her father's designated private high school next year. She knew her academic skill was falling, and she was not very happy about it.

She had always been struggling with social studies ever since fifth grade. But _math_? She had never gotten anything below an A- on her math tests. She had always been a perfect student in math class.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Lassel, I'll try to improve."

Mr. Lassel regarded her in the eye. "Don't say sorry to me, young lady."

Score one for reality.

X~x~X

Meilin prepared herself for Rollan's wrath of ' _I told you so's'_. She met him outside, in the field, after school.

But instead, "I can help you with social studies."

"You _can_?"

"I ace every test," he replied, unconcerned.

"What else do you ace?" she asked, clearly curious.

Rollan said, "Art, PE, and history. Surprise."

Meilin was indeed surprised. "I never thought that you would be tutoring me."

"I never thought that either."

Rollan put his hands in his pockets of his baseball sweater. In May, the weather in south-western Canada wasn't really cold, but Rollan seemed to prefer wearing a sweater because he resisted the heat, not the cold. Meilin, however, wore a zippered sweater to cover up her white crop top, which may or may not be against the dress code. Not that her school had a dress code, but specific teachers needed excuses to send random students to detention.

"So," Rollan said, breaking the silence, "are you walking home today?"

"Yes," Meilin replied. "Not that I have any other choice."

"Jumping home is another choice."

Meilin rolled her eyes. "Just spit out your question."

"I was just wondering if you wanted to come to my house," Rollan suggested, "since your father's busy training today."

Meilin tipped her head back; the light weight of her backpack reminding her she barely had any homework. "Will Abeke or Conor be there?"

"No."

"Then, no!"

"Why not?" he asked.

Meilin paused. "Because if no one else will be there, then- then that's like, you know, a- a-"

"A date? Really Meilin? Grow up, already."

Meilin was disturbed, considering that sentence came from Rollan. "Okay," she said. "Just don't make it awkward."

"Sure."

Meilin's mind was still on the fact that she had got a C on a math test. What would her father think?

"Don't your parents ever scold you for your grades in school?" Meilin asked, randomly.

"No. My mom just encourages me to do better," Rollan responded.

"And your dad?"

"Yeah, him too," he said, awkwardly. There was a strange expression on his face Meilin couldn't describe.

X~x~X

"I want to smash someone in the face right now," Meilin confessed, pacing around Rollan's room.

"As long as it isn't me, I'm fine with it."

Meilin's phone rang. She fiddled through her bag to try and find it. "Hi Dad," she greeted.

On the other end of the phone, Rollan heard her father say, "Meilin, I need to talk to you."

 _Oh no. He found out about her grades, didn't he?_ "Yes?"

Instead, he said, "Your graduation. I can't come. I'm going to be deployed in Syria tomorrow morning, and I can't be with you today, either."

Silence.

Meilin probably knew she shouldn't have, but she hung up.

From where Rollan was sitting, he caught her gaze, looking into her brown eyes, not letting go of it. He walked up to her, not knowing what to say, not knowing what to do.

"I heard," he finally said, catching his vocabulary.

"But you don't understand."

"Yes, I do."

Meilin sunk down in the corner. "No you don't. Look at your mom, getting a fancy job as an accountant, and your dad, whatever he does."

"Yeah, whatever he does," he muttered.

"You don't know…?"

"He's an engineer, I meant," Rollan lied.

Meilin scoffed, "Exactly. So both of your parents are fine, living together with a happy life… You don't understand."

"Yeah," Rollan remarked, "a great, happy, life."

Remembering how Meilin was bad at taking a hint, he thanked God.

"I guess I'm sorry," he lied, again.

"Whatever."

No one spoke for a moment, and then Rollan heard his mother calling from downstairs. "I'm going to my cousin's house for the weekend. She's having her fourth wedding, and it's kind of last minute. You don't have to come because we all know this isn't her last wedding," his mother said. "Bye, have a nice weekend, love you."

"Your mom's cousin…"

"Long story short, she's a picky eater."

The door shut.

Rollan's thoughts winded up to his father, suddenly, and he bit his lip to not tell anyone.

Once upon a time, Rollan met Conor, Abeke and Meilin. Skip to a year later and they became best friends. They told each other every secret, personal secrets, private secrets, and they promised they won't ever tell anyone.

But Rollan didn't tell this secret, because, once upon a time, his father left him and his mother, probably forming another family, probably forgetting Rollan's identity. And then, to make matters even worse, Rollan stopped replying to his phone calls, muting the ringer every time.

It never seemed to be a problem for Rollan to keep a secret, but at this point, he found it harder than ever.

"I'm going to walk home," Meilin said.

"It's pretty late…"

"Don't worry," Meilin said, with a hint of coldness. "I can jump home."

X~x~X

Conor's thoughts never left his head. They weren't good thoughts, calming thoughts, or even exciting thoughts. It went something like this: _Financial problems, blah, blah, blah, moving away, termites chewing away the whole building, more financial problems, getting sued, people raging, even more financial problems, landlord Trunswick…_

Basically, all Conor got was that his family had to move out of the crappy apartment and move into a new, smaller, termite free, apartment, because the housing price was getting higher, and Fenray's self-confidence was not.

Not to mention there was a small- small would be underestimating it- dispute between his father and the landlord, involving three things: One, financial adult stuff, two, financial termite stuff, and three, not-so-financial sibling stuff.

So, basically; nothing in any fourteen-year old's interest.

All Conor did to support his parent's financial issues was being a part-time cashier at a corner store, which, legally speaking, was not at all allowed. But no one seemed to notice he was actually less than sixteen years of age, as they all assumed Conor was some dwarf with blond hair.

"I would like to buy milk," a bland, skinny, customer told him in his bland, skinny, voice.

"We don't sell milk."

"I don't care."

Conor furrowed his eyebrows, wondering why the customer was still standing in front of him. "We have yogurt, a hundred percent natural," he suggested, although he knew the yogurt was practically zero percent natural.

"I don't care, I want milk."

"I am so sorry," Conor apologized, although he had no idea why, "we don't sell milk."

The customer grumbled. "I want milk."

"You can buy milk somewhere else."

"I don't want to buy milk somewhere else," the customer said, stubbornly.

Conor sank down the counter, then creeped his way to the employee's room.

"Angela, someone would like to buy milk. Can you help them?"

"No, shut up, dwarf, I'm on my break," Angela relied, munching on a sandwich that actually looked like it was made of sand.

Conor sighed. "Just tell me what to do."

"Fine, dwarf, but you owe me," Angela said, still chewing.

She got up from the tiny stool in the room and grabbed a bottle of water, and used her pen to write _Milk_ on the label. She handed it to the bland man, who made a not-so-pleasant face to Conor.

"That would be four hundred dollars," Angela lied.

The man handed four one hundred dollar bills, exchanging it for the vandalized water, glared at Conor, and left.

"Why did you say it was four hundred dollars?" Conor asked. "And why in the world would you do that?"

Angela shrugged, returning to her sand sandwich.

X~x~X

"How was your shift?" Conor's mother asked, at dinner.

"Interesting," he replied, honestly.

His brothers sat across from him, one of them reading a boring book, the other texting furiously on his phone, both of them never looking up from their daily routines.

"Garrin," his mother called, to his middle brother, who jumped in surprise and unfortunately dropped his phone. "Stop texting your ten girlfriends. Wallace," his mother called, to his eldest brother, "stop reading that book."

His brothers both obeyed, Garrin putting his phone in his pocket where it rang ten times every second, and Wallace conveniently throwing the book somewhere in the apartment, probably covered with termites by now.

"Your father has something really important to tell everyone."

Fenray cleared his throat as if he were doing some long speech about human rights. "We're moving."

"Quite a speech," Wallace pointed out.

"Like we didn't know that already," Garrin pointed out.

"I expected something more spectacular," Conor's mother pointed out.

Conor didn't point anything out. He sunk down, unimpressed.

"We're going to the east coast," Fenray said, answering Conor's unasked question. "We're going to move to New Found Land, where the housing price is very low."

Conor sunk down even lower.

"Why do we have to?" Wallace complained.

Garrin scoffed. "Why do you care? It's not like you have any friends."

"Attitude, Garrin," his mother replied, silencing Garrin.

"What do you think, Conor?" Fenray asked.

Conor hesitated. He didn't know exactly what to say, so in the end, he nodded.

"We're moving in the beginning of July, so I'm sure, Wallace that you have plenty time to organize that junkyard you call a room into boxes," his mother mocked. "And you Garrin, you have plenty time to break up with your girlfriends."

He was surprised his mother didn't say, _'and you, Conor, you have plenty time to sink down your self-esteem to nothingness.'_

 _Argue, you idiot,_ Garrin mouthed to Conor, with a glare.

Conor pretended like he didn't notice it.

"May I be excused?" Conor asked, to which his father replied with a nod.

He walked into his side of the room he shared with Wallace and Garrin. Wallace's stuff was piled up tragically into many bunches. Garrin's side of the room was trashed with clothes, but was strangely organised. Conor grabbed his phone, climbed up the loft bed and checked his text messages.

There was one from Rollan, which Conor immediately opened. Over the course of years, he knew Rollan barely used his phone, only replying to texts and calls if they were emergencies.

It said: _Meet me in the park at eight._

It was seven forty-six, and to walk to the park took more than just fourteen minutes.

He jumped off his loft bed, grabbed a light jacket and headed out the door. Surprisingly, no one asked where he was going. Conor was fine with it. He ran down the stairs instead of taking the slow elevator that barely worked, and ran out the front door of the apartment building.

He ran to the park, checking his phone for the time.

"Conor," Rollan greeted.

"Why did you text me? What's the emergency? Who died?"

"It's about Meilin."

"Meilin died?" Conor mocked.

Rollan didn't respond to the bad joke. "Her father's going to be deployed tomorrow morning. And he's going to miss her middle school graduation."

"And I'm moving to New Found Land," Conor said.

"You are?"

"Yeah," he replied. "The housing rates thing is lower on the east coast."

Rollan sighed. "So you're telling me that you're going to New Found Land, and Meilin's going to that private school forty kilometers away, Abeke's going to West high, and I'm going to that boarding school. None of us are going to the same high school."

On the street, a couple of protesters yelled in people's ears about the financial problems.

"I guess-"

An explosion interrupted Conor's sentence. People screamed.

"Go!" Rollan yelled. "Let's run to my house, its closer."

Conor didn't reflect his mind on what the explosion was, or what caused it, but he just ran. Rollan ran a couple of paces ahead of him, leading the way to safety.

But Rollan stopped. Conor noticed that a little girl was sitting on the grass of the park, wailing for help. Rollan picked her up and continued running.

"What's your name?" Conor asked, trying to be helpful.

"Delphine," the girl replied.

Rollan stopped in front of a house that seemed about five times bigger than Conor's apartment unit. He grabbed his key and unlocked the door, locking it after he, Conor and the girl entered.

"I know who that is," Rollan said, pointing to the girl. "Lishay's sister." He then turned to Delphine. "Are you Lishay's sister?"

The girl, even traumatized, still nodded.

Rollan ran into the kitchen, grabbed a box of water and carried it into the basement. Conor and Delphine followed. Rollan ran to the kitchen again, grabbing something else, went inside the basement and locked the door.

"Now that we can actually talk, what in the world was that?" Rollan asked, sitting in the dusty basement.

"A bomb," Conor replied.

"I know what it was; I just want to know who caused it."

Delphine found a remote for the television in the basement and turned it on.

"Explosion in Main Street Office, eight fifteen today," the broadcaster said. Rollan turned the volume down. "We believe it was a man of six feet tall and greying hair, nicknamed the Ambusher, striking again, for the fourth time this year. We do not know the Ambusher's real name, but researchers believe it is-"

Conor turned the television off. "Main Street Office is where Abeke's mother works."

 _ **AU: the four fallen are on modern Earth.  
Please review, thanks!**_

 _ **~Alice**_


	2. Half Solutions

_**I really shouldn't update this first.  
Who am I kidding?**_

"Close the windows and curtains, close all the lights in the house, turn off all the electronic devices, mute all phones, grab all wireless phones, get more food and water, turn off the electricity, come back here and then I'll lock the basement door."

Conor looked at Rollan, raising an eyebrow. "How do _you_ know so much about lockdowns and danger?"

"My mom has a cousin," Rollan responded, biting his lip.

"Talking about your mom, where is she?"

"With her cousin," Rollan responded, again biting his lip.

Conor looked to Rollan for a second, then left, digging in the depths of his brain to recover Rollan's instructions. He went upstairs to every window in the house and closed them and their galaxy themed curtains, turning off electronics and muting phones that he grabbed along the way. Conor ran inside the kitchen as if he were competing in an Olympic race, grabbing food and water, returning to the basement. For an instant, he wished Rollan recorded the timing. Instead, he just locked the basement door with a multiple number of locks and even threw a table or six to feed the door's wish of security.

One of the phones in Conor's handful of four phones rang. Not rang, really, but lit up.

"What's the name?" Rollan asked Conor.

"There is no name," Conor replied, looking at the number. "But it's not this area's code." He handed the phone over to Rollan, who carefully inspected the number. He answered, face blank, and then proceeded to slam the phone on the ground.

"Who was it?"

Rollan didn't immediately respond. He looked to Delphine, who was asleep on a small gym mat they managed to find in the basement, to Conor, who still wondered who on Earth Rollan could slam a phone for. He sighed, burying his head into his hands.

Mumbling, Rollan finally answered. "No one."

One a scale from one to ten with one being the lowest and ten being the highest, Conor would judge Rollan's helpfulness as a zero.

Trying to be optimistic, Conor said, "At least you didn't break the phone."

"But you woke me up."

Conor turned around to find Delphine walking around the basement, looking absolutely bored.

"Anyway…" started Conor, sighing. "What did that 'no one' say?"

"Nothing," Rollan muttered.

"So in conclusion," Delphine cut in, "you smashed that home phone for a no one who said nothing."

Rollan shrugged. "Whatever."

Conor didn't respond, neither did Delphine, but they both looked at Rollan with worry and curiousity.

X~x~X

"I'm not going anywhere," Abeke told Meilin, for the hundredth time. "You can't force me to."

Abeke sat on a tree stump in her tiny backyard, not facing anywhere but at Meilin.

"I have four maids and six servants. And I live in a mansion. My father won't mind if you join me. You get to pick one of the seven extra bedrooms," Meilin offered.

"I repeat," Abeke repeated, "I do not want _anyone_ to do that. I don't care if you don't mind, because I mind. I told you about how much I hate it when people do things for me."

"Fine then, don't." Meilin left, the rage crystal clear on her face.

The thing with Meilin was this; she gets mad, she storms away, blaming you. You get mad; she says it's unreasonable and stupid. If it were up to Abeke, she would have probably taken Meilin to see some anger management treatment.

Just like she would do to her father.

It wasn't the best idea in the world, but it might work. Not that she would ever have the guts to suggest it, but she was allowed to have the imagination of a perfect family; a nice, calm, _helpful_ , father, a joyful, not anxious mother, a brilliant, model sister, and herself, which she plans on changing at about age whenever-her-life-changes-dramatically, which, realistically, was _many_ of years ahead.

She laid on the green grass, watching the late sky peacefully, nothing interrupting-

"ABEKE, COME QUICK! DID YOU SEE WHAT HAPPENED? OH MY GOSH, IT'S SO URGENT! YOU HAVE TO-"

"I'm coming, Soama, as long as you don't break my ears," she responded, sighing.

Abeke's sister was rarely in the house, usually only staying once she breaks up with a boyfriend. But whenever she _was_ in the house, the neighbors would usually wear their 'Soama earmuffs' and went on 'Soama lockdown', which included shutting all windows, and any other ways of communications possible.

"What's wrong?" Abeke asked, faking her sympathy.

"Watch," Soama responded, easily, turning on the small television in her room.

"Explosion in Main Street Office, eight fifteen today," The reporter said. "We believe-"

That was all Abeke needed to hear.

X~x~X

Conor sat in the corner of the basement, still somewhat freaked out that the Ambusher was still out there. He checked his watch. It was ten o'clock. Rollan was getting a phone call from his mother, and Delphine was getting one from Lishay, who talked with Conor for a second, half relieved.

He checked his phone. No one had called. He hadn't called his parents, or his brothers, but surprisingly, no one had called him. Conor kept on telling himself his parents probably just didn't know about the situation on Main Street. He kept on telling himself that people made mistakes, and this was probably just one of them. He kept on telling himself everything he didn't believe, forcing himself to do otherwise.

Delphine hung up, looking at Conor. "Where's your phone call, Conor?" she asked, tinting her grey eyes at him.

"Oh. My family doesn't watch the news a lot, so, I guess they don't know about the explosion," he lied, not very smoothly. It didn't matter, anyways, since he was talking to a six or seven year old girl.

"Liar," Delphine muttered, much to Conor's surprise. "Don't lie to me."

"Then don't ask me questions," he stated, with a final note.

Conor knew it was no way to treat a little girl, but when it came to his personal life, he didn't like it when people asked questions. And plus, a little girl who could tell lies from truth was no ordinary girl.

He heard Rollan hanging up, walking over to Conor and Delphine's past conversation.

"Maybe we should call the girls," Conor suggested.

"Maybe we shouldn't," Rollan suggested.

"Maybe this conversation isn't going anywhere," Delphine pointed out, clear that she thought the two boys were ridiculous.

"Sassy today," Rollan said, to no one in particular.

Conor sat down on the dusty carpet of the basement, which he guessed was vacuumed approximately once every century. Rollan wandered around pointlessly in the basement, seeming anxiously tense and bored at the same time. Delphine peeked out the small basement window once a while pretending to be somewhat bored, but even Conor could see the tired look on the little girl's face.

"You should get some rest," Conor suggested, facing Delphine. "You're tired."

"And scared," she replied. "If I die tonight, I don't want to sleep through it."

Conor put a hand on the little girl's shoulder. "You won't die tonight. And plus, it's ten. Much too late for a girl your age."

"I'm seven," the girl complained, "and you are not my mother, my father, my sister, or my deceased brother, I hope. And plus, why should _I_ listen to someone who lies to my face?"

Conor didn't have anything to say about that.

Rollan gave them each a chocolate chip cookie his mother made. Conor bit into his at the same time Delphine and Rollan did.

"This is gross," Rollan criticized. "No wonder why my aunt got some sickness at my mom's cousin's second wedding." He paused, staring upwards. "Or was that just an excuse to not _go_ to the wedding?"

Delphine spat hers out in the garbage can. Conor politely ate the cookie, realizing how much bathroom time it could cause him.

"What _is_ wrong with your mom's cousin?" Conor asked, trying to be as polite as possible.

"Many things are wrong with her," Rollan replied with a scared expression on his face. "Many, many, things."

Conor didn't want to know more about the psychopath cousin Rollan's mom had.

He sat there, still waiting for a call from his family. He saw some texts from Lishay, asking about Delphine. _'Is she safe?'_ one said. _'Are you and Rollan safe?'_ another asked.

Conor sensed that Lishay was a bit in her paranoid state. He couldn't blame her, as he knew Lishay had already lost a sibling due to a murder.

"Tell me a story," Delphine commanded. "Tell me a true story."

Rollan did his infamous smirk. "About my mom's cousin?"

Delphine didn't answer, so Rollan told the story.

"This is the story of my mom's cousin's third wedding, in Hawaii island," Rollan said, smirking. "It was just last month, on April 25th, or as we all say, St. Mark's day."

"I have never heard of that in my entire life," Conor commented.

"Anyway," Rollan continued, glaring at Conor, "that day was the day of the third wedding, between Alinda Marcius and Jason Smith. The wedding vows were already done, and it was party time. I was babysitting Alinda's poor little son, a four year old named Allan, from her first husband. Then, Jayden, Jason's sixteen year old brother came bursting through the door of the toddler's room. He came back from his bathroom break and was sweating all over his forehead. He yelled, "MY SISTER IN LAW IS CRAZY!" And I was like, "You didn't know that already?" But, of course, I wasn't helping. So Jayden dragged Allan and I to the party room, where Alinda was screaming at the top of her lungs at Jason, who wasn't interested whatsoever in pointlessly screaming back. Alinda was smashing glass bottles on tables and traumatizing her son. She-"

"Wait," Conor cut in. "Isn't this violent? Isn't this traumatizing for a little girl to hear?"

"She wanted to hear a true story," Rollan reasoned. "And this is as true as they get."

Delphine surprisingly agreed with Rollan.

"Anyway," Rollan continued with yet another glare straight into the depths of Conor's eyes, "she kept on quoting the curse word dictionary at Jason, who kept on laughing because of how hilarious she sounded. But who could blame him? We were all dying of laughter on the inside; just none of us had the guts to actually laugh out loud. So apparently, Alinda kicks Jason in the head, but ironically, she misses and falls to the ground, landing on the glass shards that cut her back. She was sent to the hospital in Hawaii for three days, and then she came home with us because she was sobbing that yet another husband had, not surprisingly, filed for divorce. Skip to a week later, and she decided to get revenge on Jason. What did she do? She flew to Hawaii, breaking into Jason's huge penthouse, and dumped a bag of snakes in his apartment. Then, she started dating a random guy named Wyatt, and right now, right at this moment, is their wedding. And then my mom told me how Alinda smashed a ceramic plate on Jason's head just now, and Alinda's off to find snake dealers in the province of British Columbia. The end," Rollan finished, with a smile on his face.

Delphine laughed, as if this were a happily ever after. Clearly, it was not, but Delphine didn't seem to care. She seemed to enjoy the terrible and traumatizing wedding stories. "What happened to Jason?" Delphine asked, curious.

"Well, uh, it turns out, the penthouse wasn't Jason's, but instead it was a floor of a hotel. But don't worry, no one died, and only eighteen people got bit."

" _Only_?" Conor asked, shivering.

"There were about two hundred people partying on that floor, the same night. It's a miracle only eighteen people got bitten."

Delphine fell asleep again, but this time on the carpet. Rollan grabbed a light blanket to cover the little girl in her sleep. Or at least, that was probably what Rollan was planning on doing, except a pound came from the back of the house.

"Did you lock the back door?" Rollan asked, while shaking Delphine.

"You have a back door?"

The pound came to their basement door, not long before it disappeared, only to appear again, at the window.

Glass shattered.

X~x~X

Meilin's cellphone woke her up. Not that she was sleeping, but she was getting somewhat close to falling asleep, and the cellphone beeping didn't help with her insomnia. It was Rollan. _Rollan._ Never in the world had she ever randomly received a text message from Rollan, who probably ran a campaign against the use of cellphones. She opened the message. There was one word: _Help._

She jumped out of her bed and changed into some decent clothes. She had no idea exactly where Rollan was, but she assumed he was in his house. She creeped down the stairs, making sure to not wake any butler or maid. She ran down the dark streets of the city, barely anyone present. The only things she noticed were the things that weren't supposed to be present. Like the silence in the street, or the glares of the others, or the extra locks on companies that were supposed to be open twenty-four hours a day. The things that were supposed to be present but weren't here, like the lights of homes, or the bright streetlights, or the warm welcome of the outside.

There were only the loudest screams of souls here. There were only the echoes of fear here.

Something must have happened.

Something bad.

Something loud.

Something that echoed the parallel world of fear.

 _ **And Alice makes another repetitive cliff hanger.  
**_


	3. Water and Ashes

_**I can't focus on anything because of what happened in The Burning Tide. I'm sad now.  
Oh, and school just started so I'm not going to be updating really often. (When do I update often anyways?)  
The Burning Tide makes me want to write Legendary Rebel until the ending and just not upload anything because it was just disappointing. **_

Rollan opened his eyes. A black cloud loomed over him. No, not a black cloud, but _Meilin._ He tilted his head to find himself in his dim, empty basement. Beside him, a small clutter of shattered glass stood in a pile, neatly swept.

Meilin gave him a cool glare which told him to say something.

He tried to find the words in his mind, to assemble them piece by piece like the toy train his father gave him for his sixth birthday, but the only words he had placed were-

"Where's the phone?"

He knew it wasn't the right thing to do, according to his morals.

"Where's the phone?" he asked again, as Meilin blankly handed him his cellphone.

 _Breathe in_

 _Breathe out_

He dialed a number he remembered by heart for the sake of remembering it. He waited for someone on the other end to pick up, desperately fighting himself in his mind. He held the phone so harshly in his hands it might as well just break into pieces right there.

He wished it had.

But it didn't.

"Hello?" asked a voice on the other end.

 _Breathe in_

 _Breathe-_

 _I can't do it._

He hung up.

Rollan felt tears wield up in his eyes. "I couldn't- I can't- I can never-"

"You can't what?" Meilin asked, in a quiet voice.

 _She has no idea. She doesn't have to have any idea. I don't have to tell her._

"I couldn't assemble the toy train. My mother wouldn't help me because it wasn't 'her business.' So I just kept the pieces in a box-," Rollan said, getting up and reaching towards a small, wrecked cardboard box on his left hand side, "-and I never touched the pieces until now." He picked up a small piece that was supposed to be a railway track. "I can't talk to him because I'm _scared_ , Meilin, I'm just so scared. I'm scared of everything and everyone, everywhere and every piece of reality. And on top of that, is spite. I'm not talking to him in _spite_ of everything." He placed the piece on the floor of the basement. "I can never accept anything from anyone because every time I do, I just think about him, and I just can't- I couldn't- I can't- and I can never accept anything, even just a sorry or a thank you, from him. And I just can't lie or laugh it off anymore."

Meilin held Rollan's gaze, silent, but- but that was okay. Nothing needed to be said, nothing needed to be questioned, and nothing needed to be answered.

"Where's Conor?" he croaked, after a while.

"Conor…?" Meilin's gaze shifted from Rollan to the back wall moving her lips slightly. She twisted her head to the side, eyes glancing down.

"But- but Conor- Delphine- They got captured!"

"Delphine as in Lishay's sister?"

"Yes, she was with us and-" Rollan broke off. "She and Conor might even be _dead_ , for God's sake. I'm dialing Garrin."

Meilin responded, "Why not his parents? Why Garrin? Why not Wallace?"

"Because you've never met Conor's family, that's why." He reached for his phone from his pocket, retrieving the device and dialing Garrin's number.

"Who the hell are you and why are you calling me?" Garrin greeted, his usual way.

"It's your girlfriend," Rollan greeted back.

On the other end, Garrin spat out something. "Hey… You're Lilia, right?"

"I'm kidding; it's Conor's girlfriend."

"Now I _know_ you're lying. With his social skills Conor wouldn't ever get a girlfriend. Now what d'ya want, Rollan?"

"I want you to know that Conor's captured by some guy called the Ambusher," he responded, changing to his tone seriously.

"Bro, stop wasting my time. I'm at a party."

"If you don't come to my house, I might just have to tell your parents about that party."

Garrin was silent for a moment. Then, "What's the address?"

X~x~X

Garrin had arrived at the front door, forehead dripping with sweat.

In Meilin's book, that was the first sign of people she didn't like.

"What do you need me to do?"

"To help me find Conor, you idiot," Meilin answered.

"Wait. That was the truth?"

In Meilin's book, that was the second sign of people she didn't like.

Meilin lead Garrin downstairs, to the basement. "First of all, Conor's brother, I really don't like you. Second of all, Rollan is only calling _you_ to help because it's three in the morning and the rest of your family is shaming the world, not including Conor, of course."

Garrin muttered a response.

"Second of all," Rollan continued for her, turning the old television on, "this is what happened."

On screen, the news reporter smiled the insincere smile all news reporters and formal personalities had. She reported about the protest going on in the streets, about people stealing stolen things, about people kidnapped being missing, about water being wet, about light being bright and other obvious things.

And then finally, "This is reporter Terry speaking and I'm just outside the crime scene where the building was supposedly bombed by the Ambusher, whose identity still remains hidden. As you can see-" Meilin could not see, "-the firefighters are still working to eliminate all flames in the building. The northern side of the Main Street office was completely destructed but a single bomb scientists are currently studying."

"Thank you, Terry," the other reporter, who was safe in an office with no bombs, "we'll bring it back to Jed."

A male news reporter came on screen. "The incident reported twenty-two deaths in which five are still unrecognised. We also reported two missing children, one of fourteen years of age, named Conor Shepherd and the other of seven years, named Delphine Met. Reports have said the Ambusher took them, around ten pm and twelve am. Police are on the search of them, but the only evidence came from fifteen year old Rollan Concorba and his friend Meilin Wang. Rollan had supposedly been unconscious after the incident, and covered in scars by the broken glass outside a window of a basement. Meilin had called the police and the rest is irrelevant in the situation. Now, moving on, we have for you, a report on local cows that have been mooing differently."

Rollan closed the TV.

" _Conor is missing_ ," Rollan told Garrin, precisely.

"Let's be real here," Garrin started, making Meilin hate him even more, "the police will eventually find Conor and that dolphin girl, and everything will be alright."

"It's Delphine, _Garrin_."

"I don't care, _Meilin_."

"You don't seem to care about anything, as a matter of fact," Rollan remarked, muttering under his breath.

Garrin didn't respond.

X~x~X

It was hard to escape home at four o'clock in the morning. Abeke had stealth, yes, but stealth had no use if you get caught _after_ you leave. And this was precisely the situation Abeke was in at the moment.

' _You're a killer,'_ her mother had told her. _'You're a killer who doesn't kill.'_

It was much true.

' _If a killer doesn't kill,'_ Soama had said, _'what happens?'_

' _That's for Abeke to find out on her own,'_ her mother had patiently responded.

And so she will.

She snuck out the door, already in her day clothes. She closed the creaky door behind her, carefully, then locking it in its place.

She ran out at dawn to Main Street Office, which was conveniently six blocks away from her house. Passerby's stared at her, probably wondering why a girl was hurrying away at four o'clock in the morning.

Half of the building was burned into nothing, and the other half was still standing; not proudly, but it was better than nothing. The whole building had been left in ashes and water, left in grey matter, left in destruction.

She entered the door, ducking under the _caution_ strip. She entered the 'door', going up the 'stairs', all the way to her mother's office.

Abeke sat on the floor, hugging her knees to her chest. She put her head on her knees and cried her words away.

X~x~X

Conor was nowhere.

He was so sure of it. He had remembered walking for hours, and finally reached it.

He was nowhere.

Conor had never known what power felt like, but just _existing_ in nowhere felt like power to him. He was strong. No one could defeat him, because no one could reach him. No one could die here because no one could live here. No one could break him because no one could hold him.

No one.

That was exactly what nowhere was.

There was only one problem with the perfect world.

It was all inside his head.

 _ **That was so short, but I really cannot focus right after I read a new SA book, although it has been two days.  
But I warn you, you will be surprised.**_


	4. Lie to You

_**The SAMB knows nothing about us. Mwahahahahahah. They don't know about the fandom here on Fanfiction.  
Or at least most of them don't.  
But either way, we're a secret. But you guys should go there, just saying. The fandom is huge. User: Butterflydusk44 and Butterflydusk36.  
(36 is my backup, 44 is my main.)**_

Conor was still nowhere.

All Meilin was told was just to back off from the situation and let the police handle the issue. Of course, she never did what she was told, so what was the point in doing it now? She never got caught breaking the rules anyway, and that was the thrill of it all.

It seemed odd to her, as Abeke would usually be the one to complain about Meilin's secret behaviour. But this time, _this time_ , she said nothing. Not a thing. She nodded her head, shutting her mouth.

Meilin was never good at taking a hint, and she decided it was one of Abeke's realizations this time. She was realizing how important breaking the rules just might be for Conor. She was realizing how rules were meant to be broken.

"Don't tell anyone anything," the principal had told her. "As far as I'm concerned, the news network created a virus that deleted anything that had the name Conor Shepherd or Delphine Met. I know how the student teacher Lishay Met is concerned, but you have to keep quiet; not a lot of people know. No one watches the one o'clock news. It got deleted right after. Don't worry about anything."

Mr. Lassel then crossed his legs and took a sip of his decaf, which was what annoyed Meilin the most. _You're not helping with the problem if you silence it._ Meilin had wanted to knock the off brand coffee out of his wrinkled little hands and laugh.

But laughing wasn't something she did often now.

Being called to the principal's office was really never a good thing. Ever.

"Police are here," Rollan pointed, behind. "No one knows exactly what they're there for, but they just are." He paused, glancing back. "Obviously, we know why they're there."

Meilin turned around to face the west courtyard, where policemen were currently entering the building through the west door to possibly interview the principal, Lishay and everyone else who possibly knew Conor and Delphine.

Rollan pulled his backpack off his back and into his hands, sneaking in through the west door, Meilin trailing behind.

"Are we even allowed to be in the school?" Meilin asked, once she caught on.

"Since when did _you_ care about the rules?"

Meilin didn't argue. In fact, Rollan seemed to care about the rules more than Meilin did.

They walked along the first floor, only to be met by the end of the corridor. Mr. Lassel's office was on the edge of the third floor, but they knew better than to check there.

Meilin was suddenly aware of the weight of her backpack, heavy with science homework and French textbooks. Her back ached, but it was all a part of being in honor's science and language. She ambled along with Rollan, her extremely heavy backpack and his probably empty one. At this point, it didn't seem really fair that she had to carry three kilograms of paper every day and he didn't.

Meilin pulled off her backpack and handed it to Rollan. "Hold this for an hour."

Rollan had a complicated expression on his face Meilin couldn't quite read, but she knew it wasn't exactly good. But he obeyed.

They hopped up the stairs, making sure to be out of earshot and eyesight.

Meilin looked at her phone, checking the time. _Four thirty-seven._

An hour and a half ago, school had ended, leaving Abeke to go home right away, uncharacteristically, not talking to one of her four million friends.

At that point, Meilin felt jealousy. Between the four of them, Abeke seemed to have the most friends, most people she could talk to, in any and every situation. Rollan was the same. No one seemed to dislike any of them. Conor may have been shy, but there was a simple rule; no one could dislike him either.

And then there was Meilin.

Not everyone liked her. In fact, when it came to a dispute she was in, no one would ever pick her side.

Except maybe Rollan. Unless if it was really bad, and he had to embrace his character of justice.

"-Meilin," Meilin suddenly heard Rollan say. "Were you even listening to a word I said?"

The answer was obvious, so she didn't bother to answer.

"I said, the principal and Lishay are taken to be questioned because the police needed DNA samples of Lishay and just some type of information from Mr. Lassel." Rollan showed the text message from some guy named poop emoji.

"And how does your intellectual friend know?"

"Reien's the principal's son."

Meilin shook her head, sighing. "Tracking whatever the police do is so useless. We have to go find Conor and Delphine ourselves."

"How?" Rollan asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Have some hope."

A faint smile appeared on Rollan's lips. Faint, but it was still there. Sad, but it still meant something.

All that mattered was that it was there.

X~x~X

Abeke turned to hiding.

She wasn't sure what she was hiding from; her friends, her father and sister, maybe even herself. Or maybe she was just trying to believe in her own lies, the types they put out in the news, assuring everyone everything is okay, when nothing is.

When Abeke was six years old, she had punched a boy in the face.

"Why did you do it?" her mother had asked her, looking straight into her eyes.

"Because he lied to me," she had responded, staring straight back into her mother's eyes.

"What did he say?"

He had told her the biggest lie. "He told me everything was okay."

Her mother had held her shoulders, with a plastic smile, saying, "It _is_ okay."

Abeke knew it was a lie, because whenever her mother had lied, her big eyes would look down to Abeke's shoulders, too intimidated to say it to her face.

X~x~X

 _ **That was very oddly short for this story.  
I haven't updated in forever.  
Excuse? Uhm, how about the fact that I have two tests tomorrow, a French project, math homework, and a huge woodwork project that counts for 50% of my mark? Does that work?  
(Spirit animals message board? Pftt, no, I wasn't there.)  
(I'm a great liar.)**_

 _ **~Alicio**_


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